Glitch
by Hetanna
Summary: The quietening of the world around him allows Dark Pit to finally focus on the misfortune that befalls him and his body as a result of his rough and sketchy method of creation long ago. Making a decision he thinks is best for all parties, including himself, he looks to make the best of his newly realised situation.


Being created was a strange feeling.

I was minding my own business, dwelling as the person I truly was, a figment of nothingness without purpose or responsibility to anybody or anything. And then all of a sudden, there was air—all around me. It filled my lungs and I didn't like the taste of it. Broken glass was flying from all directions and then all of a sudden I could see. And I could think. I had memories. Someone else's memories. How disgusting they were. I didn't agree with anything the past had brought to Pit. He was merely a piece being played on a board. To have that image attached to me for as long as I was to exist, I didn't want it to be true—that was the first thought that I had when I was born. And those were the actions I followed until the very end of the war.

But as that time went on, I found that my soul was forever bound to the memories I had had installed within me at creation. In short, I was unable to live without what I had had to accept by then was the original form of myself. Once he took his last breath I would be forever gone, as though I had never existed. While I wanted to live in the shadows and play by my own rules, I didn't want to disrupt even the smallest part of the balance in the world by disappearing when it was inevitably true that I had once existed. It wouldn't even be as though I died. There would be no trace of me left.

And as such, some thing did have to change. I found myself teaming with the speck of light, as much as it contrasted against my flood of darkness. And while one might be right to assume I was selfish in saving Pit's life that one time, maybe denying that I didn't like to see an ally in pain is something I can't do now. The smallest part of me forgot my bound fate, evident in the fact that I was slow to run from the gate to the Rewind Spring; it was not my first thought. So the smallest part of me, too, didn't care what became of my own existence in that one moment.

Put simply, I started to like Pit, and by the end of the war, I suppose I could have called him a friend. But that didn't mean I wasn't going to return to my roots, and the very first thought that had come to mind upon my entering into this world as a separate being. I still wanted to leave everybody else behind and continue my life the way I pleased. Now that the war was over, it seemed like there was no better time.

But the trouble for me was just getting started.

There's no denying now that I am an incomplete copy of Pit. Incomplete in every way. Most obviously, I'm not affiliated with him or with the Underworld, and grateful I am for that—but I was not given the direct appearance, either, of the white angel, instead receiving feathers toned with the blackest of blacks and eyes most unnatural to be viewed. I can't say that I don't envy Pit's appearance. The way I am, I feel I am some kind of monster; angels can't be created to look too different to humans, aside from the wings, but with my eyes red as they are, I could not assume the appearance of a regular human, and with my wings as they are, too, I could never describe myself as typical to the angelic race, either. Incomplete I may be, but I still want to be an angel. And I am locked out of that identity, as far as I'm concerned.

But all of that was a given. The real trouble came when I settled down enough after the war, nestled for recovery in Skyworld for the time being, to realise more of what being incomplete meant for me in terms of consequences.

It's been a small number of years since that time. Now, I sit upon a floating isle, and watch as Pit and the centurions are freely training down below on a larger platform, as they usually do, day after day. But they never tire of it. Because their perception of time is proportionate to their race. Angels age far slower than humans. Pit might have changed since his childlike appearance in days of old. But since the war, he hasn't changed a bit. He's still got that same youthful flare in his eyes that still match the sky like they were some kind of reflection. And he's still nimble and quick and remembers all of what happened in the few years that have passed. That's because to him, it's as though only a matter of months has passed.

But I feel those years. I feel them in my soul and in my body.

I quickly realised that I was not ageing as an angel should. I was not even ageing as a human should. I was created to be incomplete to the point of having a life that was fleeting and short. Perhaps it has only been one or two years, but I feel my body's taken the toll of three or four. While Pit was a ring, I was frozen just as he was, in the same body, in the same age as before—that was why, perhaps, I wasn't able to feel this effect until time again affected us both naturally, but my soul has been in contact with my body ever since then, and as has Pit's, and while a month after the war's end may have seen nightmares come to my mind in sleep, so vivid of the scenes we had seen in battle, now they are a blur and no longer haunt me. Pit is different. He still remembers everything as though it were yesterday. He remembers every move he made, every dodge and every word he uttered. Rightly so for a young mind, too. I have to nurse him sometimes. It's pitiful to see him struggle in sleep because he can't stop seeing the nightmares night after night. At first I thought I was stronger than him for having stopped suffering so early, but alas that would be wishful thinking if such an assumption had continued on until now.

My memory is not only hindered by the effect of time perception that plagues me. But the fact that I was created incomplete means that there are parts of Pit's past that were installed within my brain that for some reason I cannot recall as easily as I should, and from time to time, I simply find myself unable to remember things that happened just the other day. It frustrates me to say the least. I can remember that a day or two ago Pit and I were discussing his early trials—the first time he faced Medusa, to be exact. He was talking about how scared he was, as he was so very young in those days, and I knew all of that—I can remember clearly the emotions he was feeling and the presence only of his precious goddess in his mind to spur him on—but I should have known more. I should have remembered the circumstances that left him trapped in the Underworld all alone. I should have remembered more clearly his journey of strength, how he scaled the landscape all the way back to Skyworld and who he met along the way. I should have remembered the specifics of exactly what it was he feared. It wasn't losing his own life, he told me. It was losing it to the Underworld. And it wasn't only failing his goddess he feared. But failing her and knowing there was nobody left to fight in his place.

What bothers me the most about this isn't the thing itself. It's the fact that I feel that if I had stopped to think about these events before, I would have remembered them. And perhaps one day if I stop to think about them again, I will remember them then. And all of that makes me feel as though my very existence isn't just becoming weak—but it is inconsistent, unpredictable and fickle. Some days I can feel myself drifting off into my own little world against my will. It's not a nice place.

I feel as though the unfinished nature of my existence has caused me to run on an unstable operating system. I feel like my software is corrupt and one day my hardware will fail. I feel like it's already failing. Just barely running. Running on low power. Running out of power...

I feel like a living glitch.

Pit and the centurions are just about finished with their training. I see Pit as he takes the hand of the strongarm for just a moment and gives him a smile so warm it could rival the sun. He smiles at everybody that way. Even me. If there is one person in this world to whom I can turn and discuss this fear inside of me, it's him. But then, it's no-one. Because I play by my own rules. One of which, has always been to keep on going no matter what happens; give nobody mercy, not even myself. Because the future can't be changed. It would be cowardly of me to go back on my very nature just because I feel like that nature is slowly twisting out of existence.

And after all, have I not learnt anything over this time? I'd accepted already that I was the copy between us. It should be that I can accept that the world will be better off without me.

Distancing myself as I've always intended is the only option. It's finally time for me to leave Skyworld as I planned. That way, not only can I live my life as I wish, but nobody will notice when my system files rot away and all that sustains me is gone. Though I don't know a single soul who would miss me with any sort of vigour, I know that a soul such as Pit's is weak and sensitive. He would respond with pain to the knowledge that even an acquaintance had faded away. If there is a slight chance that anybody else in this world suffers that same weakness, then I want to spare them that pain too.

I suppose that that is one complete part of my soul that mirrors Pit's in its entirety at least. That I should be mindful of other people's feelings at the end of the day as I am.


End file.
